Defection
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya must prove his conviction to defect to Thrush.


A cold wind swirled around the street, causing the hunched figure of Illya Kuryakin to pull his collar up against the chill. A snowstorm had been forecast, but it couldn't be allowed to interfere with the mission at hand. It was absolutely imperative for Napoleon Solo to be dead by midnight.

It had taken a week for Illya to persuade his Thrush contact, Devlin Gorse, that he was serious about defecting from U.N.C.L.E. Gorse was initially wary that one of Waverly's golden boys would walk away so easily. However, he was swayed after Illya told him of the deep-rooted anti-Russian feeling which was prevalent in the organisation. He had even told of the physical and psychological abuse to which he had been subjected. Illya had high hopes that the meeting to which he was headed would be the one which got him accepted.

Reaching a non-descript door, in a rundown building, he glanced around before knocking out a code on the wood. It was opened almost immediately and Illya was instantly aware of the pistol being held on him. Alex Carr wasn't as convinced as his boss of Illya's change of loyalties, and was making his feelings known.

"Second floor," he grunted, waving Illya in with the pistol.

Kuryakin nodded in acknowledgement and headed for the staircase. Arriving on the second floor Illya discovered Gorse also had his second associate, Paul Murray, with him. This man didn't seem to be as distrustful as Carr.

"My dear man," Gorse enthused, striding across the room and warmly shaking Illya's hand. "It's ten minutes to midnight, you had me worried."

"I was held up," Illya stated, but offered no further explanation.

"Never mind, never mind. Have you done what was required to prove your conviction to join us?"

Illya reached into the inside pocket of his coat, making sure to move slowly and carefully. Any sudden moves could easily spook Carr, and he had come too far to mess it up now. He pulled out a large envelope and handed it to Gorse, who tore it open with the glee of a small child on Christmas morning. Upon seeing the photographs within, his grin grew impossibly wide.

"I have to admit, I never though you would do it," Gorse breathed. "He was your friend after all."

"'Was' being the operative word," Illya replied, with absolutely no intonation.

Gorse passed the photos to Murray who, being a fairly squeamish man, passed them straight over to Carr despite barely glancing at them. The third man studied the images which appeared to show the very dead, and very bullet-riddled, body of Napoleon Solo. Carr was sceptical of what he was being asked to believe.

"This sort of thing can easily be faked," he stated, with a sneer; throwing the photographs onto a table.

"I don't think these are fake," Gorse replied. "I realise that U.N.C.L.E. has the skills to create such a thing, but I have witnessed enough death know the truth of it when I see it. Solo is dead."

He took hold of Illya's hand once again, and shook it enthusiastically.

"I have no doubt at all that you will make an excellent addition to our ranks," he said, almost giddily.

Illya tried not to react to Gorse's strange enthusiasm, knowing precisely what it was. The man would be rewarded handsomely for tempting such a high-ranking U.N.C.L.E. agent to their side, and he was obviously already planning what he would do with such a reward.

"If you are agreeable," Gorse continued. "We will get straight on. My superior awaits your arrival."

"We should check him for tracking devices," Carr stated, forcefully. "And also confiscate anything else he has. It's too soon to fully trust him yet."

"You're such a worrier, Alex," Gorse said, in quite a patronising tone. "Would you mind, Illya?"

Kuryakin unbuttoned his coat and held out his arms, indicating that he was willing to submit to a search. He knew nothing would be found as he had absolutely nothing on him; not even his gun. Illya felt almost naked without any of the things he usually relied on, but it was vital that he showed he could be trusted. Carr was temporarily satisfied, but he wasn't about let his guard down.

The four men exited the building from the rear door; no doubt hoping not to be observed. However, as was his habit, Illya scanned the area for places he would conceal himself, and was certain there were at least three people watching them. The three Thrushies gave no indication of having noticed anyone, which suggested the observers could also be Thrush. There was also every chance they could be U.N.C.L.E, and the Thrush men simply hadn't seen. For Illya, there was little point on dwelling which side they were on.

Carr pushed Illya to the rear passenger side seat, and thrust a blindfold at him.

"Get in and put this on," he grunted.

He got in beside Illya, while Gorse and Murray, who would be driving, climbed into the front. Carr still had his gun in his hand, and was poised for any trouble that the apparent defector might cause.

"Aren't you being just a little paranoid, Alex," Gorse admonished. "Illya is now our friend."

"Better safe than sorry, boss," Carr snapped. "I am not ready to trust his motives. We'll see what the big boss has to say when we get there."

Gorse sighed and shook his head. The man would always be stubborn, and he couldn't do anything about that. He turned to Murray and told him to set off.

"How far are we going?" Illya asked, with a nonchalance which belied his fear.

"Far enough," Carr snarled, ending the conversion.

As best as he could ascertain, they travelled for around an hour, which he checked as soon as his blindfold was removed. Gorse chatted the whole way about what an asset Illya was going to be, and how much he, himself, was expecting to receive as a result. It was all Illya could do not to shout at him to shut up. It was a failing among many Thrush members that made them want to constantly self-promote; whether they warranted praise or not.

The property they had arrived at was a large, two story house, surrounded on all sides by a high wall. The gates on the front locked electronically and, as they passed through, Illya noticed an armed guard patrolling the grounds. It was impossible to tell how many more there were, but he could guess there would be enough.

The owner of the house, Howard Harrigan, was waiting for them in his study. Illya only knew him by his reputation as a thug with delusions of grandeur. The man he found seated at an overly large mahogany desk was relatively small but looked every inch the street hoodlum he had grown up as. The study was a testament to the good taste he didn't possess but which his vast, stolen wealth was able to buy. As Illya and his Thrush escort entered, with Carr still holding his gun on him, Harrigan rose to his feet and walked over to them.

"Mr Kuryakin, it's a pleasure to welcome you," he greeted, barely acknowledging the presence of the others. "How was your journey?"

"As pleasant as it could be while wearing a blindfold," Illya replied.

"Ah, yes. I'm sure you realise that it's difficult for Thrush members to trust anyone, especially an erstwhile U.N.C.L.E. agent. However, I do think Mr Carr can dispense with his weapon now."

He glared at the gunman, daring him to defy him. Reluctantly, Carr re-holstered his weapon, but made it obvious he was ready to grab it should the need arise.

"May I offer you a drink?" Harrigan asked, stalking over to his fully stocked bar. "Vodka, maybe?"

Illya replied with a curt nod. His innate paranoia tried to tell him the drink would be drugged, but he put the thought aside. It was unlikely that his host would want to take him out just yet. Illya would be an enigma to him, and he would want to find out his angle first.

"Let me give you the tour," the Thrush boss offered, once the drinks had been downed. "You other gentlemen can stay here."

Carr opened his mouth to protest, but was waved down.

"Thank you for your concern, but with the amount of security I have, I'm certain I will be perfectly safe. Besides, Mr Kuryakin belongs to us now."

Illya observed Carr closely. The man was far too edgy around him, and could prove to be a problem. If Illya wasn't careful, he could scupper the whole plan. Carr noticed him looking and glared back. Although no words were spoken, both men conveyed that the other should watch his step.

The main tour didn't take long. Harrigan showed Illya the room he would be occupying, as well as the lounge areas and the library. Illya wasn't really listening to him; choosing instead to make a mental map of the house.

"What do you think of our Devlin Gorse, Mr Kuryakin?" the Thrush asked, as they headed for the place Illya was truly interested in.

"He likes the sound of his own voice, and believes himself to be more important than he probably is."

Harrigan barked out a harsh laugh.

"You are an excellent judge of character," he said, as they came to a stop in front of a door which looked like all the others. "This is the laboratory."

Illya didn't outwardly react to the words but, internally, his heart skipped a beat. Hopefully, he was about to meet the reason for his being there.

The lab wasn't large, and it had no windows, but it was state of the art. Sitting at a bench, peering into a microscope with his back to them was a grey-haired man in a scruffy lab coat. He showed no indication of having heard the door open. Harrigan stepped closer to him and coughed politely. He had to do it twice more before the man realised he had visitors.

"I . . . uh . . . apologise," he said. "I was engrossed with my research."

"Not to worry, I just wanted you to meet our guest before dinner tonight."

Illya was introduced to Dr David Webber and had a heart stopping moment when the man reacted to Harrigan telling him he was formerly of U.N.C.L.E. His face had taken on an expression of excitement but, luckily, Harrigan hadn't noticed. Illya tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. He had come too far for it all to be thrown away now.

"Dr Webber is currently working on a wonderful new formula which will neutralise the U.N.C.L.E. sleep dart."

"How?" Illya asked, with a sceptical frown.

"Would you care to explain, Doctor?"

"Well . . . uh . . .I'm creating a vaccine," he explained. "All Thrush guards and operatives will be given it. Once it has been . . . uh . . . passed for use."

"So, if we, or should I say they, were to shoot someone who had been vaccinated, nothing would happen?" Illya asked.

Before Webber could say any more, the door was opened by a guard. He told Harrigan that there was a member of Central on the phone.

"This will be about you," Harrigan said to Illya. "Please feel free to stay and converse with the good doctor. You may go anywhere in the house and grounds, and if you need anything, there are plenty of guards who will be happy to assist you. Dinner is at eight."

Illya perfectly understood the implication in the man's mention of 'plenty of guards'. He was being treated as a guest, but he was not trusted yet.

As soon as Harrigan left, Webber's whole demeanour changed.

"I was about to give up on you," he hissed. "I sent a request for help a week ago,"

"I am sorry it has taken so long, but we had to verify who you were. You also gave no clues as to where you were," Illya told him. "It took a time to discover your location, and much longer for me to finagle my way in here. How long will it take for you to be ready to leave?"

"It will take a few hours to get my research notes together," Webber replied. "I have them on microfiche, hidden around the house."

"It will be too dangerous to leave in daylight," Illya explained. "So it will have to be tonight. I'll have everything figured out by then."

"You are but one man, against several highly trained guards."

"It is not the first time I have been in such a situation. Besides, I am not just one man."

...

After reassuring Dr Webber that he was in safe hands, Illya decided to wait out the time before dinner in his room. There was also something he needed to do. Out of long-ingrained habit he swept the room for bugs or camera lenses. He found nothing, but that didn't mean there was nothing there.

Turning the main light off, he switched on the bedside lamp and carried it over to the window. The cable was only just long enough for his needs. Illya peered down at the ground to ensure that no-one within the walls could see the window. Beyond the boundary all was in darkness, and Illya had no idea if his message would be received. He just had to trust there was someone out there. He would have given anything to have his communicator with him. It made life so much easier.

Illya flicked the lamp on and off, sending out in Morse code that the mission would be going ahead at some time in the late evening/early morning. There was no reply because of the risk someone in the house might see it.

Replacing the lamp, Illya kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. It was going to be a long few hours.

...

The dining room was another example that money could buy the accoutrements of class, but couldn't imbue it in its owner. Illya found all the overt opulence just a little vulgar. Carr and Murray were absent from the table as Harrigan considered them to be nothing more than 'the help'. Illya was given the seat at the end of the table, opposite his host. Gorse sat on the side to his right, and Dr Webber to the left. The only other person in the room was a guard who was acting as waiter.

For the first half hour of the meal, the conversation was entirely dominated by Devlin Gorse. He prattled on incessantly about his personal triumph at having recruited one of U.N.C.L.E.'s top agents; entirely failing to acknowledge that it was Illya who had approached him. Not that Gorse knew the real reason he had done so.

"You're a man of few words, Mr Kuryakin," Harrigan stated, cutting right across Gorse and silencing him. "It makes for a pleasant change."

"Slovo-serebro, a molchaniye zoloto," Illya responded.

"I've never bothered with foreign languages. You'll have to translate that for me."

"A word is silver, but silence is gold," the Russian replied, not surprised in the least that the man had no interest in languages. That would imply an interest in other people.

"Indeed, indeed. Oh, by the way, Gorse here showed me the pictures you gave him."

Harrigan clicked his fingers for the guard to hand him the envelope which contained the photographs of Napoleon's corpse. He handed them around the table, but Illya made a point of refusing to look at them.

"You seem distressed, Mr Kuryakin. May I ask you a question?"

Illya nodded.

"Was it difficult to do this to your partner, your friend."

The Russian looked to the window, and stared out into the darkness beyond. Even Gorse had the good grace not to break the moment.

"Easier than I would have expected," he replied softly.

"How did you do it?"

Illya shook his head and told the assembled men that he would never discuss it, and that the details and the betrayal were his alone to bear. Harrington laughed his harsh laugh. He wasn't particularly interested in the manner of Solo's death, or Kuryakin's feelings about it. All that mattered was that, even if Kuryakin failed them or proved useless, he had burned his bridges with U.N.C.L.E. It also meant that Thrush had leverage over the man. If he stepped out of line, they would threaten to hand him over to his former colleagues.

Dr Webber looked at the photographs with horror. When he had sent word to U.N.C.L.E. that he was prepared to switch sides, he would never have expected they would go to such lengths. He was a talented scientist but surely he wasn't so important that they would murder their own to get him. He had done nothing of any great note, and was only able to offer information on projects he had been involved in.

"You'll be pleased to know that the call I received earlier was from Central," Harrigan told his guest. "Someone will be coming to pick you up in a few days. In the meantime, please treat the house as your own, and if you furnish me with your measurements, I shall have some fresh clothes brought in."

...

The meal had gone on for a further hour. Neither Harrigan nor Illya contributed anything further to the conversation, allowing Gorse to chatter away unremittingly. Webber had excused himself before dessert, muttering something about finalising a piece of research. Once coffee had been dispensed with, Illya told his host he would like to take a stroll around in the open air, as it always helped to settle his stomach after a large meal.

In reality, he wanted to get a good idea of the geography around the grounds. He wouldn't have long to formulate an escape strategy, and even less time to convey the plan to Webber. Luckily, he was able to come up with something feasible fairly quickly. He just had to hope that Webber had no problem with heights.

Illya made his slow way towards Webber's lab, taking care to show an interest in any artworks he passed. Along the way he bumped into Harrigan, who asked if he had enjoyed his stroll and enquired about his current destination.

"I did, thank you," the Russian replied. "I thought I would visit Dr Webber. I am somewhat of a scientist myself, so I would like to get a good look at some of his equipment. It is far superior to anything U.N.C.L.E. has. This was a blatant lie. The Command's accounts department was frugal, but Waverly ensured they allowed large enough budgets for U.N.C.L.E. to remain at the cutting edge.

"You sell yourself short, Mr Kuryakin," Harrigan answered. "I have seen you dossier and know that you are an accomplished scientist, and you even hold a PhD in Quantum Mechanics."

Illya shrugged modestly.

"Hopefully, Thrush will utilise your intellect far more than U.N.C.L.E. ever did."

"They valued my other abilities," Illya countered, a little too defensively.

He watched Harrigan carefully, to see if he had noticed Illya's slight faux pas. He couldn't tell one way of the other.

"I see. Well, if you will excuse me."

Illya continued on his way. In the lab, he didn't get a chance to say anything as Webber grabbed him by the lapels.

"You killed your partner?!" he yelled. "I'm grateful for your help, but I'm not worth your throwing your career, and possibly life, away for."

"I have no doubt about that," Illya hissed back. "But Napoleon Solo is not dead. Hopefully he's waiting out there somewhere for us to make our break."

"Not dead?"

"No, now be quiet before we attract undue attention. For all I know this lab is bugged and my plan was already ruined earlier today."

"You need not worry about that," Webber told him, visibly relaxing. "There probably are listening devices in here, but I erected a dampening umbrella."

Illya nodded, impressed. He then explained to the scientist what his plan was.

"How are you at climbing?" he asked.

"I'm not a young man, but I believe I will manage."

"Good. Come to my room just before 1 am. Don't knock. Just come in"

...

It was five minutes to one when Dr Webber entered Illya's room. He had sensibly dressed in dark colours in an effort not be seen in the dark.

"Did anyone notice you?" Illya asked.

"I don't think so," Webber told him. "And I have the microfiche strips hidden in my belt."

"Good. I've sent a signal. Hopefully someone is out there waiting for us."

"Are you saying there might not be?"

"Nothing is guaranteed, but it won't be a problem."

Thinking that there was no point in hanging around, Illya decided it was time to go, Illya decided it was time to go.

"You go ahead of me," he instructed. "Do you remember what I told you?"

"Climb onto the roof of the veranda, keep low and close to the wall until I reach the large tree. From there, scramble through the canopy of the trees until I get to the wall, then make my way over."

"Once you're over, keep going. Don't wait for me. There should be three agents out there somewhere, and they will identify themselves to you so you will know you can trust them."

Illya opened the window and ushered Dr Webber through. He waited until he was sure the man was following instructions before hopping out himself. The U.N.C.L.E. agent reached the final tree just as Dr Webber reached the ground on the other side of the wall. He was watching him so fervently, that he failed to notice that his tree was surrounded by guards. Worse still, Alex Carr was pointing a pistol at him.

Dr Webber lowered himself to the ground carefully and, with a quick glance up at Illya, he made his way into the darkness. The moon was just bright enough to prevent him from walking into any obstacles. He hadn't gone far when he heard a gunshot ring out. He stopped and turned, just in time to see Mr Kuryakin falling from the tree. By some miracle the young man landed on the outside of grounds, but not before he hit the top of the wall.

Defying Kuryakin's instructions, Dr Webber ran back to the agent. The man was unconscious and, although it was too dark to see against his dark clothing, the scientist could feel the sticky blood on the top of his left shoulder. Unsure of what to do, Dr Webber looked around for any of the waiting agents; praying they were headed in his direction.

His prayer was answered when Napoleon Solo arrived at his side.

"Dr Webber?" he asked, receiving a nod in return. "Help me with him. My car is about five minutes away, and I imagine the bad guys will shortly be here."

As they made their way to the car, they were joined by the two other agents who had been waiting for Illya and the scientist. They kept a guard over the others but it wasn't needed. All five men made it to the two waiting vehicles before Harrigan's men located them.

...

Illya Kuryakin briefly wondered why he had put in so much work, and put his life on the line, for a man who probably had little to offer in return. He knew, of course, that he had done it before and, should he be given the chance, he would happily do so again. U.N.C.L.E. never ignored a call for help, if it was possible, no matter whom that call came from.

He had come to in the back seat of Napoleon's car, with his head lying in Dr Webber's lap. The scientist was pressing a hand against Illya's shoulder. The agent made a failed attempt to sit himself up.

"Keep still, Tovarisch," Napoleon ordered. "You're bleeding heavily, and we haven't had time to perform any proper first aid."

"That could have gone better," Illya mumbled drowsily. "I knew Carr would cause problems for me."

"Thank you Mr Kuryakin," Webber stated, with enormous gratitude etched in his voice. "You risked everything for me."

"Think nothing of it," the Russian replied. "Though next time, I'll play the part of the murdered man, and Napoleon can stand in harm's way."

From the driver's seat, he heard Napoleon chuckle at his faux indignation, and couldn't help but smile. His partner did his fair share of the dangerous work, it just seemed as though destiny had marked the Russian out to be the one who received the worst the job had to offer.


End file.
